


Three

by notjustmom



Series: Mirrors [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 07:56:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11226636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom





	Three

Sherlock sat up gingerly and reached out for John's old clock, a relic from his childhood, one of the few things he had saved. He held it in his hands, it was solid; brass and glass, something that could have easily been dented or cracked long ago, to be forgotten to time itself, but the shimmery image of his own face was whole, save for the one long scar that ran down his jawline, that was taking its time to heal. 

 

John had drawn in a shattered breath the night Sherlock had reappeared at Baker Street, almost unrecognizable. But he had blinked, then nodded and traced the still raw wound lightly with a single trembling finger as he stared into Sherlock's eyes.

"Are you home? For good?"

Sherlock had shrugged as carefully as he could and mumbled brokenly, "only if you - I don't expect - didn't -" before crumbling into John's chest, held up only by John's strong, warm embrace. 

 

He absentmindedly ran a finger along the raised pink line, which he personally thought made his face interesting, finally. John had found a way to make peace with the differences he found in him, not just the superficial, cosmetic changes, but the occasional deep silences Sherlock fell into, only to surface, sputtering words as John held onto him, in languages, dialects John would never quite understand, then collapsing, exhausted, into a sleep that mimicked death itself. And yet, John stayed.

"Did the alarm wake you?" John murmured, his eyes traveling over Sherlock's face, checking for signs of distress or pain.

Sherlock shook his head. "No."

"Nightmare?"

Sherlock shook his again and sighed. "Was wondering, this clock -"

"My grandfather's. He was the only one who understood me. He put this in my hands, when I was five, and told me to take care of it. He died when I was on my first tour, and I knew the minute it happened, just knew somehow. Just like I knew you -"

"I -" Sherlock closed his eyes and mumbled, "wasn't."

John nodded, and took the clock from Sherlock's hands, then laid it on the bedside table. "Though there were times when I knew you were in danger -" he turned and laid his small warm hand over the scar and tried to smile at Sherlock. "I knew when this happened, I didn't 'see' it - I, uhm, kind of 'heard' you."

Sherlock's face paled and he laid a hand over John's. "God - I'm so sorry - if I had known - I should have -"

"What? What else could you have done? We have talked about this, shhh - no, don't. I shouldn't have said anything -"

Sherlock glared up at the ceiling and blew out a shuddering breath. "You've never asked, John, never once told me how - no one has ever - I wish I had a way to tell you what you - " he looked over at John who was simply waiting for Sherlock to stop the stream of babble.

"Done?" John grinned at him.

Sherlock nodded and his eyes twinkled in the way they did when he knew he was being an idiot. He moved John's hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles, then threaded their fingers together; his bright eyes searched John's, looking for a fault, any trace of doubt. Finding none, he wrapped his other arm around John and brought him closer, then stilled, listening for their heartbeats side by side. "I'm -"

John shook his head and placed a finger on Sherlock's lips, "Shhhh. It's early, still, just close your eyes for me, go back to sleep, yeah?"


End file.
